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I remember vividly the first night that I touched myself there. How could I forget...

My family was deeply religious. Unyielding in their faith. My mother especially was strict - harsh. To the point of even being what would normally be called abusive.

So back to that night.

I lived with my parents till I was older than I'd care to admit here, and this night, the first night I touched myself there, my mother, walking down the hallway in the night, saw the light from my room bleeding into the hallway under my door. And, having no sense of privacy, she burst through my doorway to see why I was up so late and found me there in the bed, my ass up in the air, trying to put my fingers inside there. I'll never forget the look us disgust as she walked rapidly across my room. And I'll never forget the embarrassment I felt as I thought - What must my sister, my brother, and my father have thought as they heard, “Whore,’” and “Hussy,” and the loud slaps coming from my room as my mother vigorously spanked my ass. And only when she, exhausted, walked from my room, turning off the light, did I allow myself to cry and feel the guilt, the shame, as I adulterated my body. And then I remember the shame turned to anger, and the guilt to spite, as I lay there in the dark, my ass stinging. And then I did something I ought never to have done. I turned the light back on, opened my window, and lay there on my bed, naked, vowing that the first man to see me there and climb into my room, I would take him into me, into that forbidden place, and try my hardest not to cry out with the pain that I would surely feel. And that night, and every night, I lay there, my window open, my lights on, and I still do to this day, wondering who will climb in and mount me. A faceless, dark figure that would fill me with both fear and exhilaration as he filled me with his sin.